


This Little Light of Mine

by arigatou_sunshine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Episode Related, Frottage, Incest, M/M, Self-Harm, dubcon maybe? not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2588393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arigatou_sunshine/pseuds/arigatou_sunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>10x03 - Soul Survivor AU... Cas doesn't show up, and THINGS happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Little Light of Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [destielicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielicious/gifts).



> Fun fact: I'm not a Wincest shipper. But it's [casfucker](http://casfucker.tumblr.com)(destielicious)'s birthday today, and I wanted to gift her with something unexpected. And what's more unexpected than Wincest fic from a hardcore Destiel shipper? EXACTLY.
> 
> Un-beta'd because Heather is my beta and I feel like having her proofread this would sort of ruin the surprise.

Deep down, where there’s a small light suffocated by inescapable black smoke, part of Dean is rebelling against this. He stomps through the empty halls of the bunker, hunting Sam, hunting his reason for fighting through three decades of life on Earth, and some ingrained part of him rebels against his intentions. He’s not meant to kill Sam, he’s meant to protect him, and some part of Dean’s charred soul knows that.

Dean’s a demon, though. He can ignore that part. That tiny, choking light. He focuses instead on the scent of Sam’s fear, wafting through the air. He follows it easily, and when he comes up behind Sam to see him peeking around the corner, he can’t help but feel disappointed. The game’s almost up, then. Surely Sam’s hunter instincts should be telling him there’s a danger right behind him? Then again, Sam’s exhausted. He’s tired, stressed, and he’s only got the use of one arm. Dean thinks he pities him a little.

He swings the hammer anyway, just as Sam turns around.

Sam’s self-preservation instincts finally kick in, and he ducks to a crouch. The hammer slams through the wall claw end first, and Sam springs back up, pressing Ruby’s old knife to Dean’s throat. Sam’s eyes are wide and terrified, and Dean is almost ashamed that this frightened man with one good arm somehow got the upper hand.

Dean slowly releases the hammer, turning toward Sam with a grin.

"Well," Dean says calmly, "look at you." Sam looks alarmed by their position, and Dean knows Sam is running through his limited options in his head, he can see the panic and uncertainty in Sam’s eyes as clear as day. The knife is tight against Dean’s throat, all Sam has to do is move his arm and put some small amount of muscle into it, and he’ll slice Dean’s throat wide open. Dean’s not sure if Sam will go through with it, but he doesn’t feel particularly afraid.

"Do it," he says, daring Sam while wondering if that blade is even _capable_ of killing him. He’s a Knight of Hell, isn’t he? Crowley never really got into that and Dean didn’t care enough to ask. "It’s all you," Dean adds, and he watches the tension in Sam’s face slowly drain away into sadness. He can see the exact moment Sam gives up.

There’s a pause, and then Sam is lowering his arm, lowering the knife. Dean’s a little surprised. He can’t say he expected Sam to really kill him, but he did expect Sam to try to make an escape. He didn’t expect Sam to give up like this, practically opening his arms to a painful death. The little light inside him is screaming at the wrongness of what Sam _SammySammySammy_ has been reduced to.

Dean lets the black sheen slide over his eyes, letting Sam get a good look at Dean’s true self as he grins and steps forward. He wraps a hand around Sam’s neck, slamming him against the wall next to the hammer that’s still sticking out. Sam doesn’t fight him, lets himself be pinned by the throat, lets Dean pry the knife away with his free hand. The look on his face is so resigned it’s almost trusting in an odd way. Sam’s not looking up, and Dean’s not surprised. Trying to make eye contact with something without pupils is tricky. Dean drags the tip of the knife along the right side of Sam’s face, tracing his hairline, moving it along to his lips. A faint shudder runs through Sam’s body and Dean grins. He hasn’t seen Sam shudder that way in a long, long time, since before Sam left for Stanford. The flickering light inside him burns brighter with longing, and Dean leans forward, pressing his lips against Sam’s, who makes a small noise of surprise and jerks his head away.

"If you’re going to kill me, just kill me," Sam says blandly.

Dean cocks his head to the side, considering. "You’re kind of taking the fun out of it, Sammy."

"I’m tired, Dean," Sam says quietly. Dean frowns.

"You’re _really_ taking the fun out of it," he says. An odd idea passes through him. The light inside him recoils, and Dean pays it no mind. "You do look tired, though. Tired, and weak. It’s enough to bum a guy out," Dean says, bringing the knife to his own neck.

"What are you-" Sam’s jaw clicks shut as Dean cuts a thin line at the front of his neck, just above his t-shirt collar.

"You miss being strong, Sammy?" Dean says, smirking at the way Sam’s eyes dilate. "Old habits never really go away, right?"

"I’m not addicted to demon blood anymore, you know that."

"You sure about that?" The cut closes up, so Dean makes another, deeper this time. "Enough juice, I bet you could take me down easy," Dean says, wondering if that’s actually true. Would Sam be able to exorcise him or kill him with his mind? Finding out the answer to that sounds far more interesting than stabbing his baby brother and sitting around the bunker alone.

"Stop," Sam begs, and Dean’s grin grows. This is going to be so fucking easy.

"You remember what it was like? All that power flowing through you, not being afraid of any old demon that waltzed in off the street. I bet you miss it, Sammy. Especially now. Busted arm, no one to help you with the Big Bad Demon in your house." The cut closes again, and Dean makes another slice. "Come on, Sam. You’re tired of fighting me. So stop fighting. I know you miss it, and now there’s nothing in your way. No disapproving big brother telling you to stop."

Sam looks even more defeated than before, finally looking into Dean’s eyes as he leans forward.

"That’s it," Dean mutters. He holds the blade out of the way in case Sam makes a grab for it, but Sam doesn’t grab for it. Sam wraps his good arm around Dean in something that feels far too close to a hug, and lowers his lips to Dean’s neck. He sucks blood from the wound, drinking and pressing his tongue into the cut to stop it from healing.

The little light inside him thrums with something close to pleasure.

It feels good, pressed up against Sam, energy slowly leaving him. He wonders what would happen if Sam just kept drinking. Would Dean die when he ran out of blood? Sam moves his head back and groans long and low before going back in for another pull.

Dean doesn’t know if the blood loss is actually getting to him, or if it’s just the sudden arousal coursing through him, but he feels a little lightheaded, staggering back a few steps, pulling away from Sam. Sam stares at him with wild eyes, looking frantic, but making eye contact; Dean’s eyes must have gone back to their human appearance. There’s blood all over the lower half of Sam’s face and the sight makes Dean’s dick twitch in his jeans. Sam looks up at Dean with a glare, holding his left hand out slowly, and there’s a tug, a pull Dean feels through his entire body until he goes flying into the opposite wall so fast his head cracks the linoleum. The cut on Dean’s neck closes as Sam looks back and forth between Dean and his hand.

"Now what?" Dean says, smiling lazily. He can’t move his limbs, but he’s not afraid. Dean’s been to every plane of existence the afterlife has to offer, he has nothing left to fear from death, not even the possibility of nothingness. Sam storms toward Dean, releasing his psychic hold just long enough for Dean to drop down, and then slams him against the wall with his entire body, smashing their mouths together and forcing his tongue inside. Christ. Sam’s definitely gotten better at kissing since they were teenagers.

The light inside burns hotter and for a moment Dean feels broken, muttering a shattered "Sammy" into the space between them that gets drowned out by the sound of Sam’s moans when their clothed cocks make contact. Dean growls, reaching down with both hands to grab Sam’s ass while Sam goes back to fucking Dean’s mouth with his tongue. They rock together, groaning between bites and kisses, and it’s good. Better than his roll in the hay with the waitress, better than those eager triplets Crowley found, better because it’s _Sam,_ broken and angry and beautiful, rubbing against him like a horny teenager.

The closer Dean gets to his rapidly approaching orgasm, the tighter his grip on Sam’s ass gets, and he must be leaving bruises but Sam just ruts against him harder.

"Gonna come, Sammy," Dean groans, and that seems to be enough for Sam, who suddenly lets out a high pitched whimper, tensing and stilling against Dean as he comes. He works his shaking hand between them, rubbing at Dean’s cock through the layers of fabric until Dean’s coming too, spitting out a few choice curses and letting his head thunk against the wall behind him before the two of them collapse to the floor like broken marionettes.

After a moment of heavy panting Sam sits up, scooting away from Dean until his back’s against the opposite wall, eyeing Dean warily.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Little late to be getting shy, Sammy."

"I want more," Sam mutters, sounding angry and defeated.

Dean stares at him, letting out a hoarse chuckle that sounds odd to his own ears. "Yeah, well demonic powers don’t come with an improved refractory time, buddy. You’re gonna have to wait."

"No, not… not that," Sam says, looking pointedly at Dean’s neck. Hooked already.

Dean raises an eyebrow, gesturing to the knife on the floor by Sam’s leg. "By all means, then."

Sam radiates discomfort, but he reaches for the knife anyway. That little light inside relaxes with Sam out of danger, and Dean grins.

They’re going to have so much fun.

  
  
  



End file.
